Footsteps

Darren Brown never wanted to be like his running-obsessed father. In one way, at least, he's done just that.

Navigating by a combination of chance, choice, and, perhaps, destiny, Darren Brown set out on his journey of discovery. It started one day in 1995, at the Tampa airport, when his mother ran into Dave Norris, an accomplished runner who used to run with Bobbi and Barry during the summer near Lake George. Norris was visiting Florida on business; at the time he was also separated from his wife. Bobbi and Dave met for dinner, and later, after Dave's divorce, a relationship developed that eventually led to the two marrying in 2000. The couple moved with Darren to Southern California, and then to Houston, where Darren, now a teenager, enrolled at Klein High School.

There he blossomed into a happy, popular, well-adjusted honors student and standout soccer player. In the summer after his freshman year, he suffered an ankle injury. The following autumn, to rehab and regain fitness, he ran on the cross-country team. His performance was pedestrian, and Bobbi expected him to lose interest in running, as he had earlier. But instead, some tumbler clicked inside of Darren.

"He came to Dave and me one day and said that he wanted to run," Bobbi recalls. "He said he wanted to be good at this."

Bobbi and Dave were pleased that Darren had committed to achieving a goal, but they also worried. Scenes from Barry's obsession remained seared in Bobbi's memory. By choosing the same powerfully addictive sport as his father, it seemed possible that Darren might follow a path similar to his father's. Joiner, the psychology professor, says biological offspring of suicide victims are at a greater risk of suicide than the general population.

Eventually, Bobbi and Dave concluded that enough time had passed since Barry's death, and that Darren had sufficiently matured, for the benefits of running to outweigh the risks. Destiny also played a role: There was no mistaking Darren's hunger to run, or the likelihood that, with some applied training, his genetic gift for the sport would quickly show. "By then I had gotten some perspective," Bobbi says. "I realized that running didn't have to develop into an obsession. If Dave and I were vigilant, Darren didn't have to repeat Barry's mistakes."

Dave, who owns a 2:33:36 PR for the marathon, assisted the Klein track coach with Darren's training. They designed a long-range plan that encouraged Darren to improve incrementally. Dave made sure that Darren maintained his GPA, cross-trained, and pursued interests beyond running. The regimen worked—aided by Dave's protective yet prodding coaching. By his senior year, Darren had logged times that drew interest from several Division I track programs, including Oregon and Texas. Ultimately, he chose Providence, Barry's alma mater.

Yet, for all his high school success, Darren failed to meet one goal: to compete at a Texas state championship meet. "In Texas, if you don't finish in the top two at districts, you don't move on to the regionals, no matter how fast your time," Darren says. His best chance came in 2003, during the outdoor season of his senior year. "At our district qualifier, I ran a 1:53.19 for the 800. It was a PR and one of the fastest times that season." Problem was, two other runners ran faster times in the same race.

After the 800, Darren sat dejectedly by the track. In another hour he was scheduled to run the 1600. Dave came down from the stands to sit with him.

"How do you feel?" Dave asked in a gentle tone. "Crappy."

Dave nodded. "You just ran a 1:53 PR," he pointed out in the same quiet voice. "Is that a crappy race?"

"No, sir."

"You're going to Providence on a scholarship. Is that crappy?" "No, sir."

"All right then. Go ahead and be upset for a few more minutes. Then stand up, brush yourself off, and go run another PR."

It was insightful, fatherly advice, the kind that Barry Brown had once routinely provided Keith Brantly and many other runners. Now, at a crucial moment in his son's career, Barry wasn't around. Darren can never forget that. "By every measure that means anything, I consider Dave to be my father," Darren says. "That's why I call Barry, Barry."